


My Kingdom for a Curling Iron

by alba17



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-04
Updated: 2010-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's true passion is hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Kingdom for a Curling Iron

**Author's Note:**

> Ridiculously silly. Inspired by itzcoatl's "Arthur hairdresser" icon and our subsequent conversation. I wrote the words, but the content is as much her idea as mine. Spoilers for S2 generally, especially 2.09, Lady of the Lake.

The feast was long and Arthur was getting profoundly bored. He rested his chin on his hand, resigned to a couple more hours of dreariness. He had long ago tuned out Lady Marwen when she began a tedious disquisition on the genealogy of her hounds. She didn't even use them for hunting! What was the point then? Her voice faded into the background as he took another sip of wine and scanned the room, loud with the hubbub of dozens of drunken conversations. Morgana's hair was looking particularly baroque this evening. Whatever had Gwen done to it? Arthur would have let it hang loose, perhaps add a few wavy tendrils in the front. And that sparkly comb she was using? Hideous!

If only he could do Morgana's hair for her, as he did when they were children. His favourite childhood memory was the pleasant hours he spent playing with Morgana's hair. For the longest time, Morgana refused to cut her hair, and Arthur encouraged her because it was just too much fun concocting elaborate hairstyles for her. Arthur would never tell his father this though. Uther still thought the highlight of Arthur's childhood was when he won the children's tournament with wooden swords. Let him continue in that delusion - it was easier than revealing his true passion: hair.

Yes, Arthur was obsessed with hair. The texture, the length, the colour, the cut – everything about it fascinated him. He barely noticed people's faces when he met them because he was too busy examining their hairstyle. He hated it when people wore hats because, for one thing – hat head, obviously – but it prevented him from seeing their hair.

Although sometimes he'd prefer not to see certain people's hair. For example, Lady Emma's new hair colour was incredibly garish. There she was, flipping it about coquettishly as she flirted with Sir Leon. How her maid had even managed to achieve such an intense shade of puce, Arthur couldn't begin to guess. He preferred more subtle shades. Not that he got a chance to try any of his ideas out, ever. No, he had to content himself with sneaking peeks at Gaius' herbal guidebooks, compiling a mental list of which plants produced which colours, imagining how each one would work on different hair colours. Once he experimented on his own hair, surreptitiously of course, just a small strip. Unfortunately, it had turned an intense green, which, when Merlin questioned him about it, he blamed on sorcery, earning a bizarre look of panic from Merlin.

He would have loved to sit down with Gaius for a chat about the use of herbs on hair, but, alas, it wasn't an option for a _prince_. No, he had to spend his time drilling his men on combat techniques, competing in tournaments and other tedious tasks, all the while wondering when the men would take off their helmets so he could inspect their haircuts. The problem was, after practice they all had sweaty helmet hair, so it was hard to get a good look. When he did manage to see their hair freshly cleaned and dry, it was usually chopped off inartfully by another knight or that useless barber in the town. Arthur's fingers itched to pick up a pair of scissors and fix the mess.

His men weren't the only ones who needed some help in the hair department. Take Gaius. His hair could definitely use some golden highlights to alleviate the unremitting gray. Perhaps the man should even pull his hair back in a ponytail. The long loose look was more appropriate for a younger man, Arthur thought. He would have liked to grow his own hair long – it was beautiful, after all – but he knew his father wouldn't approve. Not appropriate for royalty, he would have said. Sends the wrong message.

Gwen's hair, though - ah, Gwen had lovely hair, delightful loose curls of a deep chestnut brown. Occasionally Gwen would catch him staring at her, and he suspected she thought he had _feelings_ for her. But it was really her _hair_ he was gagging for. He even got trapped into kissing her once or twice when she'd basically ambushed him - he hadn't had any choice! She'd tipped her head back and closed her eyes and, well, he knew what he was supposed to do. But he hadn't really even noticed what the kiss felt like, because once he'd gotten his hands on her hair, that was all he could think about. His fingers tangled in the masses of curls, and he imagined all the ways he could style it: an up-do with ringlets hanging in the front; swept to the side in a playful ponytail, or a simple bun at her nape, with an elegant ribbon. It was heaven. He needed to talk to her about using more lavender conditioner, though.

He saw Gwen across the room, hovering behind Morgana. Despite his attempts to avoid it, she caught his eye and tilted her head flirtatiously. Damn it. He sighed. He was going to have to have a talk with her, wasn't he, before she started thinking he was in love with her, or something equally absurd. If only she'd just let him do her hair and be done with it!

His father's voice suddenly boomed out, and Arthur spent a moment contemplating Uther gesticulating in a kingly fashion to his dining companion. He supposed that was what he had to look forward to, Uther's steely gray locks. At least it would be topped by a bejewelled golden crown - fitting because it would bring up the silver highlights. No gloves though. He liked to be able to touch things, especially...hair.

He made a mental note to stock up on lemons the next time the traders from the East came through town. Good for keeping his hair shiny and blond when he had some time to sun on the castle parapet. He'd learned that trick from Vivian during their brief enchanted affair. He was disappointed when that hadn't worked out. She had the most beautiful long golden waves. What a pair they would have made. He could have spent hours working on her hair and he felt sure she would have let him. She'd shown her own keen interest in the topic. They would have made a stunning couple with all their luminous blondness. And think of what their children would have looked like!

But the one whose hair he really wanted to get his hands on was Merlin. Every day, he was faced with the sight of Merlin's lovely brown mop, so dark it was almost black, slightly curling at the ends when it got a bit long. Which sadly, wasn't very often, because Merlin made a point of getting his hair cut frequently. Arthur tried to express as much disappointment as possible whenever Merlin returned from the barber with excessively short hair. He meted out punishing, dirty tasks and glowered with princely disapproval, but Merlin didn't get it; oblivious, as usual. With his narrow face and long, thin neck, Merlin needed a bit of length to his hair, otherwise he looked like an underfed twelve-year old boy. Still, there were some compensations to the short haircut. Arthur sometimes found his gaze lingering on the back of Merlin's head, where the hair grew to a point, fine and soft above his delicate neck, pale and exposed; inviting Arthur's fingers to touch, if only he dared.

Sometimes the allure of Merlin's hair was just too much. Not long before Arthur wounded the cat beast called the Bastet, Merlin entered Arthur's chambers with his breakfast. Of course, the first thing Arthur noticed was that his hair wasn't very clean - that was just unacceptable. He understood that peasants didn't bathe very often, but Merlin was the prince's manservant. He needed to keep up appearances. All Arthur could think about was shampooing Merlin's hair – his fingers twitched with the need to get into Merlin's hair and massage it clean. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd thrown a bucket of water on Merlin. He gasped when Merlin stood there, his hair dripping wet, a shocked look on his face. He looked...well, let's just say Arthur would be spending some private time later savouring the image. Unfortunately, Merlin ran out of the room before Arthur had a chance to grab him and rub some soap in his hair.

After a couple of days, he felt bad about throwing the water on Merlin – it was probably a bit much, and Merlin had seemed down lately. When he found Merlin polishing his boots, he thought he'd better talk to him about it.

"Merlin. I've been looking for you." Arthur gazed at the back of Merlin's head, bent over his task. His hair was looking particularly shiny and lustrous. He must have washed it! Arthur felt a wave of happiness and a little thrill of excitement, as always when Merlin had newly-washed hair. It never failed to put a spring in his step for the rest of the day.

Merlin looked morose, though. "Are you going to ask me to polish your armour, wash your clothes and clean your room?" He didn't sound happy about the prospect.

Arthur sat down next to him. "Something's been upsetting you, hasn't it?"

Merlin looked down. "Maybe."

"Was it when I threw water at you?" Arthur said, thinking of how strangely enticing had Merlin looked, hair plastered to his head, all ready for Arthur's fingers to massage soap into it.

Merlin snorted, smiling. "Wasn't very nice." He didn't seem to mind now, though, since he was grinning broadly at Arthur.

"Was a bit unfair," Arthur grudgingly admitted. But still, the prince's manservant should have clean hair, damn it! Plus, Merlin had been taking the piss out of him about staying in shape, as if Arthur's body wasn't perfect. "Like when you called me _fat_."

"Why was that unfair?"

What? That should be obvious. "Because I am NOT fa.." Arthur trailed off. Merlin was doing it again! He looked at his servant affectionately. What was he going to do with the fellow? He was hopeless. But today, at least, his hair was perfect. And that was really what was important, after all. Arthur couldn't stand it – he had to get his hands on it. He grabbed Merlin's head, pulled it to his chest and started playing with his hair. Oh, it was soft and lovely, just how he'd imagined, as he pulled the silken strands through his fingers, relishing the texture and colour...

"Ow! Ow!" Merlin yelled.

Oh. He must have been pulling harder than he realised. Well, Merlin kind of deserved it for those cracks about him getting fat. "Still think I need to get in shape?" He continued his assault.

"No! No, no, no, no." Merlin tried to pull away, giggling.

Arthur laughed and let him go. "You all right then?" He paused. He knew what he really wanted from Merlin but he wasn't sure he dared to ask. Arthur normally had no qualms about fulfilling his needs, but this was different. Merlin might consider it beyond the realm of normal servant duties. So Arthur proceeded with the usual litany: "You need to polish my armour, wash my clothes and clean my room."

Merlin smiled at him, going back to polishing the boots. He must be feeling better now. Maybe, just maybe, Merlin would let him. Arthur steeled himself. "I do have one additional request."

"Yes?" Merlin said, looking up.

Arthur cleared his throat. He was a bit nervous about this. He looked up toward the ceiling, anywhere but at Merlin. "The next time…," he hesitated, blowing out a breath. "The next time, I'd like to wash your hair myself," he said in a rush. There. He'd said it.

Merlin dropped his polishing cloth and gaped at him. "Er…really?" He put a hand up to his hair and felt it, as if to check whether there was something in it. "It looks okay, doesn't it? I washed it this morning."

"Oh, yes." Arthur felt himself swooning slightly. "I noticed." He reached out and touched Merlin's hair carefully this time, as if it were delicate china. Was it his imagination, or was Merlin leaning into his touch? "It looks…" He wanted to say it looked like the most wonderful, glorious, beautiful hair in the world. But Merlin might think that was strange. "…very nice." He swallowed and took a deep breath.

"Oh." Merlin stared. "Good. Um, yours is nice too?" he said hesitant and unsure. "Have you been using lemon juice on it? It's…very blond."

He'd noticed. Arthur floated away on a cloud of happiness, as he kept stroking Merlin's hair. "So. About washing your hair?" he murmured.

Merlin's eyes were slightly unfocused. "What? Oh." His eyes glazed over and the lids drifted lower as Arthur wrapped his hand around the back of his head, massaging. "Any time, sire. Any time."

_   
**Fic: My Kingdom for a Curling Iron**   
_


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